On the cusp

The eve of a new season awaits, and the return to a routine that’s been absent for the last three months. Checking your pockets, ticket, money, keys. Out the door. To the ale house. Familiar faces, same old jokes, whose round is it? The walk up to the ground, the smell of questionable fast food frying, the noise, the buzz, the police horse taking a massive shite right as it walks past you. The rattle of the turnstile as you walk through. Quick ale before you head up the stairs and then you’re through. That lush green pitch with its whitewash bright. Unscarred, unmarked, untainted. The roar as those beautiful boys in blue make their way onto the playing surface, the crackly PA announcing their arrival with Johnny Todd. So everything changes, and yet it remains the same.

So what does season 2015/16 hold for the L4 Azzurri? After the initial promise of 13/14 and a campaign filled with so much hope, optimism, entertainment and yet ultimately disappointment, everyone went into last season wondering if we could push on. European football was back. Night matches at the Old Lady. Trips to weird, wonderful places with cheap ale and ladies of negotiable affection for the brave and/or foolhardy. Apart from a decent European run that ended the first time we met someone with a bit about them, the entire season turned out to be absolute runny shite.

Off the back of that, what does this term hold then? A trophy is essential. 20 years is a horrible amount of time to go without silverware. Unthinkable. The club needs to be set up to be having a full tilt at both domestic cups. Also, for Martinez, this season is absolutely vital for his long term reputation as a manager at the highest level. One bad year can be seen as a blip. Two, not so much. Crucial therefore to learn from the mistakes of last year.

The squad has been strengthened. Not by much, but some dead wood has been cast aside and Deulofeu is back, gorgeous señorita, wee gay dug et al. Cleverley may prove to be an astute addition although I still hold reservations about him. It’s clear we’re still lacking strength in depth though and the manager seems to be aware of this. Whether we get the three extra bodies he wants, remains to be seen.

The John Stones saga goes on. The Mirror are on a 10% commission from his sale, or must be, as they’re fucking desperate to shift him in alongside John Terry and his head made of Lidl own brand Play-Doh. Every man and his dog seem to be telling him to go, including Gary Cahill, the big fucking yard dog whose place Stones will have usurped within 10 minutes of walking in the door. Can Everton keep hold? Essential to a strong start to the season that they do but any serious offer and he’ll probably be gone. I’m not even going to start on the board. It’s boring as fuck and it’s been done to death. Ah, just one line then, if you insist. You’re a cunt Elstone. A clueless, bike riding, perma-tanned cunt.

A lack of optimism then. That seems to be the overwhelming feeling going into Saturday. Everton are back and there’s no one better at ruining your mood, your weekend, your marriage and your general health like they can. But while you’re nursing that first pint of John Smiths or Peroni or Heineken or, God forbid, Fosters (you tasteless bastard you), you won’t be able to keep that thought from the back of your mind that they might, just might, do something special this year.